After, Happily Ever After
by Lovely Miss Fyrefly
Summary: The struggles of a centuries old queen trying to retain power in a changing world.
1. Chapter 1

It was unrealistic to live in the past, detrimental really, but for Corvina it was simply a way of life. For well over six hundred years, though the

use of elaborate creams and foul tasting potions, she had played the same role in the act; A new song but the same dance. Puppeteering

whatever political power she had seduced into being her figurehead. Politics in the realm of the kingdoms may have been a 'boy's only game,'

but she made the rules. The biggest obstacle for her at present was the issue of the "rouge" creatures roaming the woods. It was an

accepted risk for those living near the woodlands that packs of undomesticated rabid creatures still lurked in the darker corners of the

kingdoms. It was rarely spoken of, a taboo subject really, and it would have stayed that way if not for a rabble-rouser lurking somewhere in

the woods. The reigning monarch had issued a decree to leave them in peace in the woods, and they in turn would stay in the woods. Corvina

had hunted them for decades, her old dungeons still held their bones, even her letter opener had a bone handle carved from the jaw of one

particularly cunning rouge, pity he wasn't cunning enough to avoid the huntsman's arrow.

Corvina sat in her office, the walls draped in scarlet velvet tapestries, the ceiling to floor mirrors gave little room for anyone to conceal

anything from her. The young man before her stuttered out his fanatic sentences, "They're rebelling. We do not have an estimate on their

numbers and have no way of tracking them." His blue eyes darted around the room, unwilling to meet her harsh glare. "They're leaving notes,

addressed to you." His breathing hastened, "on the corpse of your trackers. We have lost fifteen since their first announcement and another

two this week."

Corvina, greatly bothered by the attempted over throw of her carefully manicured parliament, tensed in her chair. She had sent notice to

decrease the rouge population as she was growing weary of the 'negotiations' between her loving husband, Deacon, and one of the pack's

leaders. The pack had fears of the possibility that Corvina may decide to do away with her husband. Deacon was a very kind man, who took

the warning from Remington in stride. He had mentioned it laughingly to Corvina that night. This news was not unforeseen, but was an

unexpected way to start the morning. "I shall see to this." Was her reply

The Scout, who had been in near panic at her stillness, nearly shouted his response, "We are at war. We need to alert parliament so that they

may handle this. This requires skill in warfare and martial law, not etiquette in domestic affairs."

She had dealt with this chauvinistic mentality for the majority of her reign. Mostly form foreign dignitaries and a few unruly husbands, most of

whom had met with very peculiar and untimely deaths. Corvina shrugged, smiling she replied. "Why break with tradition?" The man before her,

seemly thinking she had come to her senses, found himself hanging from his fingertips as the rug beneath him fell away in to a pit in the

center of the office's circular cobblestone flooring. "As I have already stated, I will handle this. As for your tone, I will be having none of it in my

office." Before he could speak again she had pulled a lever, carefully concealed as a drawer handle, on her desk, thus realigning the faux

cobblestone and ending the conversation.

Pulling out a piece of parchment, she made a note to have the inner office staff briefed on proper workplace communication skills and to hire

another liaison. Really, this was more in Alistair's realm but he was busy with an errand of sorts. The issue of the rebellion soon reclaimed her

mind. Sighing she walked though her office in to the hallway, the stone floors echoing her footsteps. She found herself two halls down and

three over from her elaborately decorated office. This was a place she had not visited in ages. It had been almost four centuries since she had

last used it. The tapestry that hung here held the image of a tall middle-aged man holding a bow. The decorative letting at the bottom held his

title, "The Huntsman."

Lightly she stroked the intricate weaving with her fingertips. The man's image was a familiar one, more than once she had called on his skills to

maintain a hold on her government. He was a skilled assassin, a suave negotiator and possibly the most effective man she had ever

employed, she smiled at the thought of Alistair's reaction to this bout of nostalgia. He had never met the Huntsman, the original one at least,

the figurehead was something Corvian had used just to keep the people in line. Her hold over the government had begun to slip recently and

with the addition of the attacks by those rabid forest dwelling mongrels, she found herself considering the possibility of pulling a figure from

the past to fix the present.

Pushing the wall hanging aside, she stepped inside the concealed arch of a recessed doorway. The door's bronze handle was green and

corroded with time and dust. She sighed heavily as the image only served as a reminder that only she remained unscathed by the ravages of

time. Many people, regimes and memories lurked in her past, the smile fell from her lips as she fought to keep her mind in the present. With

the sharp twist of her hand the door's handle crumbled in her hand. "Damn it all to hell." She snarled heaving the metal remnants to the floor.

"Did I not tell you to have that door replaced?" a baritone voice reverberated off of the stone walls. The tapestry was drawn back reveling a

tall man wielding an ax. Laughing at Covina's failed attempts, and the blow her ego took when her dignified vainer finally cracked, his thin lips

curved into a cold smile. "Need some assistance I assume?"

"Alistair, you're fired." Corvina replied sharply. The glare from her green eyes was veiled by the darkness.

"Really?" He asked in pseudo concern. "Then I shall leave this with you, and wish you the best of luck with this door. I would bring you a

lantern to see by, but as my services are no longer needed…" he cackled.

"How is it that you've not been locked in a cell in the lowest level of the oldest dungeon of some decrepit jailhouse before now? With your

talent of sardonic tones and inappropriate dictation at the worst of times it really is a wonder you have survived this long." She snapped back

at him, her current predicament had begun to weigh on her nerves. 'How is it that in all my years I only just now am faced with these absurd obstacles?' her staff of even fifty years ago would not have considered taking such an unprofessional tone with her.

"Because someone has to be here to open old rusty doors," his voice held a tone of distraction as the sound of metal lighting scraping against

metal began to fill the air. A sharp click brought this sound to an abrupt end. "Well, there you go then. I suppose the ax was a bit of overkill for

the situation." He rose from his kneeling position in front of the door brushing past her and back into the dimly lit hallway.

"Now what are you doing?" Corvina inquired. She had grown tired of waiting. From her position to the door's immediate left, resting against

the doorframe she had watched with feigned disinterest at Alistair's lock picking attempt. "I thought you said it was open."

Alistair charged the door throwing his weight against it. The door let out a screech before collapsing to the floor under Alistair, shattering upon

impact. "It was unlocked, not open." He stood, bushing the dust and wood splinters from his sleeves. Returning to the doorway he offered his

hand to Corvina, "Care for some assistance, M'lady?"

Corvina swatted his hand away, "Now, you remember decorum. Have someone get the door cleaned up, and bring me a light. I cannot see

anything in here." Her voice rang through the cold dark chamber, flooding her mind with memories from centuries ago. She blindly navigated

the room from memory alone; stumbling only once over a piece of wood from the door she walked to the desk, sitting in the dust covered

leather chair. Her hands caressed the hard wood of the desk stoking the spine of the book that still held its post there, covered in dust,

awaiting the return of its master.

Silence filled the room as Corvina sat perfectly still, engulfed in a sea of buried thoughts and memories long since forgotten. She reclined in the

study chair, looking to the shadowed ceiling where an old chandelier still hung. Archaic when compared to the lights that now filled the fortress

she had built, but this once she much preferred. Its wood and iron body creaked with age as a draft from the hall wafted in.

The room sprang to life as a light from the center of the room sparked. Alistair stood lighting an oil lamp that not tasted flame in ages, his

shadow danced on the walls. The paintings that hung on the walls, pictures from antiquity, lurked waiting to pull her back into a different time.

"I shall send a cleaning crew in the morning." He commented, Unwilling to intrude on her trance. The room, it seemed, had her in its spell, and

given the political upheaval headed her way, she might need this break from reality. 'Well,' he smirked, 'a break from our reality anyway.'

Covina awoke the next day to find herself still in the chair. With the lamp burning its last ounces of fuel she returned to her office. Her

desk was laden with letters from parliament demanding a decree of war. Wars never solved anything. They never had. By the time Corvina

was seventy she knew this. How it was that the 'all knowing coven' that called themselves parliament had not yet caught on to this was

beyond her. Opening a the fifth red envelope of the morning she read in hasltly scribbled words another call to arms.

"Absolutely absurd. How are you going to rule a kingdom with when all your people are dead? War, honestly." She fell in to her chair,

"These are the learned men who have been brought to me as my counsel; And they want a war." Corvina leapt from her chair and back into

the Huntsman's office.

She sat in the large leather chair and began searching the underside of the desktop. "I know I left it here, where is the lever?' her fingers

touched the brass pull and out slid several murky vials. The dust coasted glass felt slippery in her thin fingers. Uncorking the first of the vials,

the liquid began to hiss, she smiled. "If it be a war they want then a war they shall have." She filled a flask with the dark viscous fluid from the

glass vials and returned to her office.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning found the reigning monarch dead. Poisoned, the kingdom in mourning and its citizens blaming the rouge packs. Corvina

dressed in mourning colors had excused herself and returned to her quarters.

She found she had an unexpected guest. "Remington," she addressed him coldly. The tall man turned to meet her, his grey hair had streaks of

black and silver which brought out the blue of his eyes. He was dressed, as most of his kind were, in a dark colored overcoat. The clothing

beneath this coat was embroidered with patterns that made even Corvina's refined tastes envious. "How nice of you to stop by, I am sure you

will be wanting to pay your respects to my husband."

"I have already been to see Deacon." The remorse for the loss of the first person in the kingdom's government not to draw a riffle on him at

first sight was a great burden to his community.

Corvina smirked; Remington was lost in thought and appeared to have left his guard down. She drew her dagger quickly and leapt towards

him, aiming for his heart. Remington caught her wrists and through her back upon her desk. "Witch, you can only hide behind your guise for so

long. Your ability for empathy died centuries ago, you are simply a walking husk of a human, weak and fragile." He turned to leave, adding, "I

will find you, without your walls and your guards and your spells. And when that day comes, you will beg."

Corvina was indignant; that mongrel had spoken with such crassness, she had not heard such words in years. She almost felt bad for having

him chased from the fortress. Alistair's presence in the hallway was simply good timing. She had no way of knowing Alistair had taken to

carrying a pistol, nor how good a shot he was. Remington had come with two companions, and left with only one.

The howls from the woodlands echoed for days, after a fortnight without a good night's rest, only then did Corvina become concerned.

Alistair had sent parols out at all hours to safe guard the grounds. Most of the guards had been scared back inside after the first one was

found mutilated.

"Alistar, find me the twins," Had been Corvina's first order of the day. Alistar had been pouring her tea when she gave the order. The

tea abruptly stopped pouring.

"Are you sure you want to let them out again? Do you remember the chaos last time? They were an absolute terror on the villagers,

and the guards, and the upholstery." He winced, remembering what Gretel had done to several chairs in the office.

"Yes, I am quite sure. Send them in when they get here." Corvina's tone had been cordial, as if she had simply requested a bottle of wine.

"It shall be done." Alistair replied. As he went to issue the order he took a last look at the chairs in her office. Either she really did feel

threatened or she had grown tired of that pattern.


	3. Chapter 3

Corvina was having one of those days. Her scones were burnt, her tea was cold and her butler was away on business. The later was of her

own doing but admitting that would did nothing to improve her mood so she avoided doing so. Corvina wound up in the office she spent most

of her days in. Maps plastered the walls where once painting had hung. The heavy red velvet curtains let only a few ribbons of light creep in to

her chamber. Corvina passed the large desk and chair that had been her companions for so long and walked to the large wooden door that

separated her washroom from her office. A smile graced her lips as the echoes of her steps changed in tone from the stone floors of the office

to the wooden floors of her sanctuary. The bathtub was one of her favorite possessions. The fountain, because a faucet would not have done

her lovely tub justice, was something of an oddity. Alastair had often commented on her choice of décor. But she could not have anyone

copying her carefully planned layout, therefore having her designer cast into what was now the fountain seemed reasonable.

She sank in to the warm water of her bath and waited for one of Alistair's 'minions' to deliver afternoon tea. She sank in to the water loosing

herself in the sensation. The sound of thunder broke the quiet moment. The intensity of the storm echoed in the room. Corvina sat in her bath

gazing out the window on the far wall. The rain causing the ancient glass to rattle in its frame. Morgan, one of Alister's underlings, had

delivered a tray of hot black tea along with the morning's briefing moments before she'd arrived. Slowly she sipped the steaming black liquid,

and enjoyed the warming sensation it gave her. She shifted uncomfortably as she read the briefing. A newspaper clipping had been paper

attached to the card bored folder. In large black bold writing it stated "Escaped psychotic twins lose in wilderness. Hansel and Gretel, age 15.

Do not attempt to apprehend." Corvina smiled. The memory of the twins had always pleased her. They were so good at what they did.

Out in the hall Morgan had been issuing orders, as he did in Alister's absesnce. He dismissed the troops and turned to head back to Alistair's

office.

"Excuse me, Sir?" he turned to find a slender blonde female. She smiled at him. Her lips continued moving as if she was talking, but no words

could be heard. Her eyes seemed to look through him, their blue coloring drawing him in.

"Like a moth to the flame." A male voice broke Morgan from his trance. "This one would make a lovely addition, would it not sister?" Morgan

turned to find a male who looked about as old as the girl, same blonde hair and blue eyes, but had a much more menacing smile. His lips

seemed to snarl as he spoke.

"Yes, indeed he would Hansel." The girl responded.

She stepped closer to Morgan and began stroking his cheek. "However, mistress would not be pleased to find one of her toys had been

broken." Morgan's eyes darted to Hansel.

He found the man holding a long metal skewer with a screwdriver's handle at the end. "We won't break it Gretel. We'll just take it apart. Put

the tin soldier back together when we're done we will!"

Morgan began to panic. His voice wavered as he spoke "Who are you?"

Corvina was becoming impatient. The twins should have been here an hour ago. She jumped as she heard Morgan scream from the hallway.

She shook her head. Alistair's voice rang through the corridor, "Gretel, you harlot, Can't you keep your hands off people for more than two

minutes?" The sound of Gretel hissing and something being thrown pushed Covina's patients to the breaking point.

"Hansel, Gretel, in my office now." Covina's impatient call filled the stone hallway. Gretel turned to her brother "come, mistress awaits." The

two hurried down the hallway whispering of the toys and rewards their mistress would reward them with.

Morgan turned and walked in to Alistair's office. Collapsing on the floor in front of Alistair's desk, he commented, "Sir, We must stop hiring

lunatics."


	4. Chapter 4

This, as far as Alistair and Morgan were concerned, was par for the course. Hansel had flogged them both of staff to a state of

unconsciousness wearing little more than a toga. Hans had begun accessorizing. He wore the face of the town's butcher like a child would

wear a Halloween mask.

"Dinner delivery, Enjoy!" Hansel cackled as he threw an open pot with what looked like a meat strew in it towards them. Morgan did not want

to about what he used for ingredients. Surrounding Hansel on both sides were three figures. Each mangled and horribly disfigured but scars

and welts, and each wearing a collar.

"Time to play my doggies!" With that the six figured moved forward in a menacing slow pace.

Most of the staff had screamed and ran into the kitchen. One of Covina's ladies in waiting had grabbed the half empty mugs off the table and

ran towards the blonde lunatic. Throwing the hot tea in his face. Hansel smiled as the black liquid ran down his face turning his hair from an

almost white color to a dark brown. The coffee pooled around his eyes and looked like black tears as they slid down his cheeks. Hansel

stepped towards her. "A little more sugar next times my pretty girl." The sound of a riffle being cocked broke his concentration.

"That's what I told her." Alister had the riffle level with the blonde man's head.

"Fett-Schweine im Mai tragen Sie zum hades Abtreter." Cursed Hansel, It was one of his favorites and he called upon it often.

Alister froze unable to pull the trigger. His breathing became labored and uneven. Hansel smiled and walked towards Alister until the end of

the riffle was pressed against his chest.

In the kitchen Morgan looked for something he could use to help. Shuffling through cabinets and drawers of silverware and carrots he could

fine nothing remotely helpful.

"Well, I guess I could throw a can of Carrots at them." Morgan jumped, startled by the noise of high heeled shoes walking around behind him.

he turned; can of carrots still in hand, around to face the source of the noise. A tall blonde woman stood swaying from one side to the other.

"They're good for your eyes you know." Gretel Smiled sweetly. She walked towards Morgan running her fingers along the doors of the

cabinets. "Of course he didn't know that, I tried to tell him that, He didn't believe me."

Gretel sang sweetly. "He had pretty eyes, but now they're better. Carrots are good for that." Gretel twirled sending her skirt flaring out

around her thin body. Two arms sprung up from behind the island in the middle of the kitchen grabbing Gretel and dragging her to the floor

with a thud.

"That's not how you cuddle! Stupid boy! Now my skirt's wrinkled!" Gretel shirked. Morgan raised the can of carrots up ready to throw them at

whoever popped out from behind the counter first. He slowly peered over the edge of the countertop. A Scout sat with Gretel between his

legs. His hands held her wrists in an attempt to keep the crazed woman from moving.

"Come on now, not fair." Gretel muttered under her breath.

He smiled up at Morgan. "Please tell me you're not going to throw that can at me. One cranky crazy person is enough to handle, two is just

too much for me to handle today." The body of one of her Brother's minions lay in the corner next to the fridge. Blood and Carrot juice pooled

around the lifeless corpse. At least they thought it was lifeless. The figures arm twitched, it sat up and proceeded to crawl towards them.

Morgan threw the can at zombie like creature. Its mechanical movements were adding a new level of unease. Gretel turned her head to follow

the flying can of carrots.

"Oh, it seems someone has woken up from his nap." She spun off of her captor's lap, knocking him over in the process. Gretel crawled hastily

towards the drawers, pulling them all open until she found what she was looking for. "Ahha! Found you!" She cried triumphantly, waving a

spatula she had found around like a wand. She ran over to the slow moving figure and proceeded to embed the spatula in the back of its

head. It dropped to the floor instantly. Gretel skipped over to Morgan, raising the spatula up ready to strike. He braced himself. His back was

to the wooden island. There was nowhere to run.

"This. Needs. To. Be. Washed." Her words were firm.

He stared up at her. "I will put that in the wash bin then."

Gretel growled at him. "Not good enough!" She thrush the spatula at him, holding it inches away from his face "there is brains, and blood all

over this!" She was clearly becoming frustrated. She had begun breathing heavily and her voice fluxuated with odd tones and pitches. "And

you can't get blood out of wooden floor!"

Morgan stood and tried to calmly remove the spatula from Gretel. "I will personally wash the spatula twice, with bleach."

Gretel glared at him tilting her head to one side and then the other. "Extra. Soap." She said firmly. Walking out of the kitchen and in to the

adjoining room.

Alistair stood ready to fire, rifle still aimed at the young boy, "three against one, even you couldn't enjoy those odds."

Hansel smiled "My favorite toy, I could never make you beg." Alistair shuddered, remembering when he had failed to please Corvina and the

events that had unfolded after. Hansel turned his head facing each of them, studying them, memorizing them. "You only have three, I have

six…Five? I guess Gretel took one. I have five minions and my sister…" The sound of the girl storming back into the room caught everyone's

attention. "Gretel? Done already?" Hansel asked, puzzled by Gretel's appearance.

Gretel stormed in to the living room "Hansel, your minions are unacceptable and, your hair is filthy, and you have a gun pointed you. I am

leaving." She shoved two of her brother's minions out of her way. Standing in the hallway she spun around glaring at Hansel, her face quickly

morphed into a smile. "And dear brother, I shall tell Mistress." She skipped away.


	5. Chapter 5

Bizarre.

Yes that was the only word that came to her mind. Gretel had come bounding up the stairs to her mistresses, office two weeks since Morgan

and Alister had last seen her, and the only report she had to give was on the "unsatisfactory" condition her brother's minions had been

allowed to fall in to. The queen shook her head, her hair falling into her eyes in long wavy locks. Corvina hadn't had time to run through the

process of dressing before her office had been barged in to.

Her morning had started off so well. How thoroughly disappointing.

Corvina had woken to the sound of screaming, and pleas for mercy, echoing through the halls of the her fortress. She had rolled out of her

bed wearing a long red and black négligée. It was her favorite. It was, in her opinion, the prettiest one she owned. It was only brought out for

special occasions. For example, if one of she had invented a new form of touchier or a scouting mission had proved successful.

The reason for breaking out the "special occasion PJ's" was that she had a visitor last night. He had been quite handsome. 'Those icy blue

eyes, his wavy brown hair, he was a tall, nicely built specimen of a man.' Corvina shivered as she walked into her bathroom to ready her

morning bath.

There was something very peculiar about him. His uniform was unlike those her underlings wore. He wore all brown. His shirt was brown, his

hat was brown, and his shorts were brown. 'What kind of an assassin wears shorts anyway?'

She sank into the hot bubbling water in her bronze claw foot tub, savoring the heat. The marble flooring of her bathroom looked amazing. The

browns and gelds that swirled though the milky white stone went with the bronze from her bathtub quite well. A bronze statue of a man

pouring water from a pitcher acted as the spout for her bathtub. The curves of the well muscled bronze man reminded her greatly of her

visitor. She gazed appreciatively at the statue. She admired his toned chest; the expression on his face was breath taking. His arms and legs

had been cast to best show off his tensing muscles. His abdomen was very impressive, the raised muscles reflected the light from the

chandelier that hung over head. Corvina was not one to waste energy on regrets, however she often wondered if having her interior

designer covered in bronze and using him for decoration was really necessary. "A little extravagant isn't it?" a baritone voice rang though her

chamber.

"Alistair, it's impolite not to knock." Corvina acknowledged him from her bath, not wanting to leave the warmth of the water, or give him the

pleasure of seeing her in the nude. A tall man with a chiseled jaw line, black shoulder length hair, and eyes that were like deep ebony pools

walked to wards her. Covina's muscles tensed in her back as she stretched against the back of the tub. Alistair's eyes traveled down from

her face to her neck, and from there down to her… a disgruntled look overtook his piercing eyes. "Must you use so much bubble bath, that

can't be healthy for your delicate skin." Alistair knelt next to the tub. Covina's fingers gently twirled his hair. Her hand slowly traveling down his

neck and tracing the line of his shirt collar. He wore his standard black suit with a white button down shirt and black silk tie.

"What did you find out?" She asked in a playful tone. This sent a chill down Alistair's spine. An angry Corvina he could deal with. The most she

would do was possibly chain him to the top of her desk naked and pour drops of acid on his chest and stomach again. Of course she had been

having a bad hair day, which made her reaction seem logical to him he supposed.

"Alistair, what did you find out?" Corvina tugged firmly on his hair to gain his attention. Alistair smiled "He said his name was Bentley, from

UPS. He also said he was just here to make a delivery and kingdom of UPS doesn't exist." Corvina rolled her eyes "so he denies he was here

to deliver death and destruction to my fortress?" A smile spread across Alistair's pale thin lips. "Quite the opposite My Lady." Alistair reached

into his breast pocket and produced a receipt for 'Death and Destruction through the ages' "It would seem Hansel has been using the fortress

as a shipping address. Also, Bentley seems to have driven here with a carriage full of packages. He may have been telling the truth." Corvina

let the information sink in. She was in no danger from the kingdom of UPS, and their assassin had failed to kill her.

Corvina stood looking down at Alistair who still remained in his position next to the tub. The soapy water and bubbles slid down her skin and

dripped back into the tub. A cluster of bubbles that had been resting on Covina's shoulder had began to travel down her body, this caught

Alistair's attention. He watched with great interest as the bubbles trailed down slipping between her breasts sliding across her stomach

slowing down at her hip bone, and then slipping between her legs. His jaw tensed as he realized she had probably watched as he studied her

naked wet body. Alistair suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He felt aroused, but he was pretty sure he was about to be whipped and strapped

to a desk again. Arousal wouldn't help in much in that position. If anything it would give Corvina a new target for that acid dropper. Alistair

cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "How would you like to proceed Madam?" Alistair stood, He may be facing a fate

worse than a thousand deaths, but he was still a gentleman, and a gentleman stood in the presence of a lady.

"Release him, send him back to UPS. But bloody him up abit first. I want him to be seen as a warning." Corvina answered. Stepping out of the

tub and wrapping a towel around herself, Much to Alistair's appreciation. "It shall be done, Madam." Alistair said before departing. He turned

and left the room using the door disguised as a mirrored wall panel located in her three way mirror. Corvina often hated the three way mirrors.

The Queen's prior to her had almost worshipped the reflective glass. She had gone so far as to throw a large brick at one of the panels.

Unfortunelty it was the panel that doubled as a door and she nearly killed Alistair as he was bringing her the tea tray for her afternoon tea.

She had found him unconscious and soaked in steaming hot water. Tea bags and lemon slices had littered the floor around him. He still had

scars from the third degree burn on his right arm and one across his stomach. She thought they gave him character.

Corvina walked out of her bathroom and sat in her chair behind her desk. She heard the sound of yelling and the echoing of heeled shoes

running up the staircase to her office. 'Could Hansel and Gretel really be back already?' Corvina smiled she always had loved the precision at

which the twins took care of her requests. Although, 'have fun while I am gone' was perhaps a bad choice of words.

"Mistress! We have problems" the thin blonde girl stormed into Covina's office stopping when she

was leaning across her mistress's desk. "Hansel's henchmen are unsatisfactory, and there was a huge mess of carrots and grey matter, and

that spatula will never be clean enough and." She stopped and stared. "Why are you wearing a towel, My Lady?"

Hansel was next to enter the room. He greeted his sister with a cold glare that said nothing less than "May fat pigs carry you to hades

doormat." Hansel turned to greet His Mistress. "My Lady, Gretel has lost her mind." Corvina shook her head. The twins were both insane, she

knew this. Everyone who had worked with the twins knew they were unstable and psychotic. She loved them for it, but this was just

maddening.


End file.
